Kitty Litter Sounds Like Cat Food When You Throw It

Well, we bought a house.

That's a whole story, but not for this day.

Today, I invite you to explore the many mysteries of kitty litter with me.

The connection between the two may seem improbable, but please, suspend your disbelief until I reveal the critical bridge.



REVELATION COMMENCING

Espen Camino Eld-Mathis.

Imagine with me if you will, a genteel estate on the edges of Portland. Its grounds are lush, its landscaping approaching wildness. In short, a perfect setting for a lad from the country being introduced to city life.

I, as mother and adult, assumed that Espen would rather play outdoors with me and pruning shears than in the dubiously organized maze we call the 'garage'.

And I was correct, until I spent two minutes vigorously ripping out some feral bush that had taken over the upper third of our front yard.

When I looked up, Espen was no where to be seen, but ominous sounds were coming from the garage. Think, rain stick fighting a corrugated metal roof.

I raced to the garage and beheld the unimaginable.

Espen stood proudly beside Mimi's food dish, which is conveniently located near her litter box.
Both were filled to overflowing with multi-colored cat food.
He was grinning.
"ME FUNNY, MAMA!" he shrieked with delight.
Mimi was busy gorging herself between the massifs of food.

I could not speak so I simply handed him his pruning shears and led him back outside.

We pruned silently for many minutes, my brain attempting to craft a deft parenting lesson out of the 14 pounds of cat food littering the floor like a meaty deluge.

Espen slowly sidled away from me until I barely noticed him creeping towards the garage.

When I heard Rainstick vs Rooftops from the Slums II, I wearily thought, "Oh what difference does it make? There's no clean food left anyway."

My first mistake was assuming Espen would settle for a repeat performance of ME FUNNY, MA.

My second was not returning to the scene of the crime immediately.

I waited an extra minute to breathe myself into zen like calm.

And then I saw it.

Espen stood in the same spot I had discovered him before with a few key differences.

1. His shoes were off.
2. His hands were clutching lumps of sand.
3. The cat food on the floor had been covered with a greenish substance looking vaguely like fertilizer.

Or.
Oh.
GOD.
NOOO.

Kitty litter.

"ME FUNNY, A LOT!!!" he yelled, hurling the clumps of cat pee at me.

My brain vomited denial over my eyes to protect them. I have no idea what I actually did at that point.

What I remember next is holding Espen under the shower head as I simultaneously filled his mouth with toothpaste and scrubbed his body with hand sanitizer. And soap.

Repeatedly.

I probably did a fair amount of shrieking too.

I had no idea this level of gross was even possible.

He later told me, "Mama, me no eat kitty poop."
At least there's that.